


Death's Labyrinth: Laberinto de la Muerte

by Lati_Oni



Category: El Laberinto del Fauno | Pan's Labyrinth (2006), Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Rewrite, Crossover, Developing Relationship, F/M, Forced Pregnancy, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:33:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26377342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lati_Oni/pseuds/Lati_Oni
Summary: A deathly twist on Guillermo de Toro’s “Pan’s Labyrinth”Long ago in the Underground Realm, where there are no lies or pain, lived a Queen who dreamt of the human world.She dreamt of blue skies, the soft breeze, and sunshine.One day, eluding her husband, the Queen escaped, and once outside, the brightness blinded her and erased her memory.She forgot who she was and where she came from. Her body suffered cold, sickness and pain.Eventually, she died.Her husband, the King, always knew that his love would return, perhaps in another body, in another place, at another time.He would wait for her.Wait until he drew his last breath, even until the world stopped turning.“El amor es como el agua que no seca”
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Original Character(s), Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Original Character(s), Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	1. Prologue

Prologue

**_“The War is Over”_ **

**_Spain, 1944._ **

**The civil war is over.**

**Hidden in the mountains, armed men fight the new fascist regime. Military posts are established to eliminate the resistance.**

**_However,_ **

**Amidst the conflict, another tale unravels, a tale of love and sacrifice woven deeply into the cloth of war.**

Her body was still, sprawled gracefully on the ground; the smell of moss and blood burning the lungs of any who dare come near. Her hair was the color of starlight, silver and gleaming against her snow-like skin.

Her lips quivered ever so slightly, a light raspy sound escaping her lips as she struggled to breathe. Her golden eyes hung open, staring blankly out in front of her as a thick tendril of blood oozed from her nostril.

She was dying.

Almost as a gesture of acceptance her pupils dilated, the dark void near filling her golden orbs. An ache in her chest blossomed into where her story began…

  
  


_ Long ago in the Underground Realm, where there are no lies or pain, lived a Queen who dreamt of the human world. _

_ She dreamt of blue skies, the soft breeze, and sunshine. _

_ One day, eluding her husband, the Queen escaped, and once outside, the brightness blinded her and erased her memory. _

_ She forgot who she was and where she came from. Her body suffered cold, sickness and pain. _

_ Eventually, she died. _

_ Her husband, the King, always knew that his love would return, perhaps in another body, in another place, at another time. _

_ He would wait for her. _

_ Wait until he drew his last breath, even until the world stopped turning. _

**_“El amor es como el agua que no seca”_ **


	2. "Alone"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone, a prisoner of her own body. Our Story begins here.

The vastness of the Spanish countryside was almost overwhelming; Promises of fresh air and a new beginning rang softly in the hearts of those who lay their eyes upon it. Most cities felt stagnant and polluted due to the war, ruined buildings occasionally leaking out along the long winding roads.

The sun dared to peek out from behind the clouds, reflecting on the traveling caravan of black Bentley cars traveling along the dirt road. The shiny chrome fenders flash brightly in the small rays of sunshine, all bearing Fascist insignias and flags.

From the tinted window of the middle car, a woman stares longingly out into the countryside. She wore plain, frayed clothing; a messy silver braid resting on her shoulder. Her stomach was blossoming, swollen from pregnancy, one hand rest tenderly at the top of her belly while the other held the small piles of sketchbooks in her lap. The top book lay open, revealing a series of fairytale-like drawings. Fairies, creatures of lore, fantastic kingdoms covered in vines and a court of royalty spread across the weathered paper. One man, in particular, stood out among the rest, his skin was dark and his eyes gave away his mischievous nature. He stood tall, his arms strong and his posture oozing royalty. Her thumb ran longingly against the sketch, to her, it offered solace in this time of darkness.

A small gasp escaped her lips, a wave of nausea overtaking her. She places her books at her side and hastily raps at the partition window of the sedan.

“P-please stop the car.”

The caravan of cars slowly comes to a stop, and she bursts out from the vehicle. She climbs down and stumbles into the soft grass, gasping for air. She clenches her fists, her knuckles whitening as she battles nausea.

“Madam Latia, are you feeling ill?” One of the military men had exited his car, rushing to her side with a small flask of water,

“Please drink this” He nudged her the flask which she greedily snatched, guzzling it down quickly.

“Just…Give me a moment…I need fresh air.” She panted, steadying herself as she stood, “I am going to take a small walk, I apologize for the delay.”

The man raised his hand, “No need to apologize Madam Latia, Captain Morrison has made your comfort and well-being a priority.”

Her brow furrowed as she looked away, she knew that was a lie. The only thing that the man cared about was the child. She held her stomach lightly, gazing out into the heavy forest and the foggy tapestry of moss before her.

Here, she was alone.

The trees murmured softly around her, swayed by the wind. The breeze howled almost apologetically as she stepped away from the heat of the vehicles and out onto the forest path. It was a small moment of peace as she strolled slowly, being careful not to stray too far from the caravan. The idea of simply running off into the wilderness crossed her mind and she smiled to herself, she knew she wouldn't make it too far. Her hand gravitated to her belly once more and the inkling of joy faded. 

She was a prisoner in her own body. 

As she continued forward her boot kicked into a small stone in the middle of the path. She crouched carefully, picking it up and dusting the dirt off with her sleeve. It was roughly the size of a fist, a carving of a hollow human eye etched into its face. Drawn to it she clutched it to her chest, easing back up and looking around for where the strange rock could have originated from.

Just off the dirt path was a tall stone monolith, most of its surface hidden by shrubs. Latia lifted her dress and tiptoed out into the grass to get a better look. She ran her hand along its rough surface, her fingers tracing the ancient lettering that covered its middle. Once she made her way around to its front she was met with its crown, an eerie face resembling that of a barn owl with its mouth open wide. A piece of the brutish face was missing, its eye.

She studies the stone in her hand, it seemed to be a perfect match. She gently pressed the stone in, a small satisfying click could be heard as it slid perfectly nestled into its original home. There was a moment of silence before a soft chirping noise could be heard from inside the statue. She raised a curious eyebrow, leaning in ever so slightly to hear better. 

The wind picks up and suddenly a small black bird emerges from the open mouth, its face white and sticking out in sore contrast with its black feathers. A smile curled up on her lips at the sight, and the bird ruffled its feathers as it seemingly studied her right back.

"Madam Latia?"

The voice startles the bird and it flies off, and Latia sighed in defeat.

"We have to get going soon, Captain Morrison is bound to be growing impatient." The soldier offered his hand to her.

"I suppose you're right." She frowned, gathering her dress once more and taking his hand as she stepped out of the tall grass.

He began to guide her back towards the caravan, "Be sure to greet the captain when we arrive...I know that you..." 

"I will," she interrupted curtly, "I don't want to talk about it."

The soldier slumped his shoulders slightly, then opened the car door for her,

"Sorry..."

She climbed in and avoided his gaze, sitting down and pulling her sketchbook back into her lap, the image of the bird still clear in her mind as she pulled a pencil from her bag.

The soldier frowned and shut the door once she was settled, heading back to his vehicle. 

Overhead the small bird had made perch on one of the overhanging trees, watching the caravan with curiosity. Its small head tilted as it lay eyes upon Latia, who was engrossed in her sketching. The caravan took off, and not a beat later the bird follows after them.


	3. "Never Yours"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Latia reaches the Mill where her destiny awaits. She faces the man she hates the most, and gains an ally.

The caravan approached its destination soon enough, closing in quickly on the dilapidated water mill. A large group of soldiers and servants stood in wait out front by the small encampment that closely guarded the mill. The site consisted of a lone pair of dark stone buildings with corrugated roofing. It connected to the mill via a small stone bridge, the water wheel hanging over the dry riverbed, creaking loudly in the wind.

The wooden beams and columns were decorated intricately with sculpted Celtic motifs, and hidden in the shadows the occasional curious carvings of small creatures. The walls of the mill were reinforced with hundreds of sandbags and wooden pontoons as if the captain expected an attack at any moment.

Captain Morrison lead the group, staring hard at the gold pocket watch that rested in his gloved hand. Its heavy chain wrapped loosely around his wrist and its glass dial was cracked.

“Fifteen minutes late.” The captain muttered, snapping the cover shut with his thumb.

“Captain! They’re here!”

Morrison glanced up, the caravan of Bentley's pulling up in front of the building. He forced the irritated frown off his face and smirked as he beckoned his group forward to greet them. The group moves in quickly, efficiently beginning to unload all the luggage.

Morrison approaches the vehicle where Latia sat and opened the door.

“Latia, welcome.” with a pleasant smile he helped her from the vehicle, sliding a possessive hand over her pregnant belly. With his other hand, he gestured to the pleasant scholarly woman that stood beside him, and a short younger man torn up with scarring.

“This is Dr. Ziegler and Sgt. Lincoln,” He began, “Dr. Ziegler will be helping you along with the pregnancy…”

“Understood,” Latia mumbled, “thank you...Jack.” She nodded at him slowly and extended a hand to shake with Dr. Ziegler. “I appreciate you coming out Dr. Ziegler, I’m sure it’s not easy to tear yourself away from your work at short notice.”

The woman shook her hand loosely, giving a dismissive grin, “Oh, it’s no trouble, and please, call me Angela.”

“Thank you…Angela.” Latia gave a weak nod, avoiding the hard gaze from the Captain. She held her sketchbooks close to her chest and meekly stood before the trio.

“My servant Mac will show you to your quarters.” Morrison said slowly, mild irritation in his voice, “I would do it myself but my men and I have important matters to attend to,” He bowed slightly and turned to the mill.

“Mac! Take my wife’s luggage into her quarters and show her around.” Jack waved as he stormed away.

“Yes, sir.” The man shot a sympathetic glance at Latia as he gathered her belongings, her body tense from the encounter.

Once the trio disbanded, Latia heaved a sigh of relief, finally feeling confident enough to take in her surroundings. From the corner of her, eye she spotted the small bird from earlier, happily perched upon a large pile of sandbags. She gasped and immediately covered her mouth, fearful that she might have startled it. When it didn't immediately flee, she slowly began to approach it. It fanned its wings out and ruffled its feathers as if it was teasing her. Latia daringly reached out to see if the bird would perch on her hand, but it flew off towards the woods.

With a defiant huff, she set her sketchbooks down where the bird once sat and went after it, following it into the trees.

The small bird almost seemed to guide her, she followed the creature with her eyes and stumbled across a small clearing in the woods. A large circular arch towering above her, seemingly ancient and grown over by nature. She recognized the large motif that was crowned atop the arch to be almost identical to the statue she discovered along the road earlier.

Filled with determination, she ventured into the archway, slowly entering the enormous stone labyrinth that followed. The area was surrounded by trees, the large stone slabs weathered and overgrown seemingly in a spiral pattern. She makes small progress into the Labyrinth, stopping as she heard leaves crunching behind her.

“It's a Labyrinth.” 

Latia turned quickly, spotting the servant Mac stood behind her, holding her sketchbooks to his chest.

“It’s just a pile of old stones,” he began, running his hand along the Labyrinthes gravelly surface.

“They've always been here, even before the mill. Better you don't go near it-you could get lost.” The sun breaks through the trees, and Mac shielded his eyes as he hands her the sketchbooks.

“Thank you…” Latia took them from him and held them close, her voice more genuine than when she spoke with Jack and the doctor.

Mac beamed and pointed to the sketchbooks, “You drew all that? I’m sorry but I couldn't help to take a peek, I love art…” He admitted.

Latia nods sheepishly, a small smile creeping on her face, “I-I did, I’m glad you liked it.”

Mac opened his mouth to speak again, glad to have broken the woman's solemn mood but was interrupted by a loud boisterous voice calling from the mill.

“Mac!”

The man turns towards the voice with a huff.

“Don’t forget the captain's orders!”

Mac waved and sighed, “Don’t worry I’m on it.” He turned back to Latia, gesturing for her to come with.

“We shouldn't keep your husband waiting…” He held his arm out for Latia to take.

The term ‘husband’ makes Latia tense, and she clenches her fists tight.

“He’s not my husband.” She growls through gritted teeth.

Mac raised an eyebrow, taken aback by her sudden sour disposition, “What do you mean?”

“Jack...he’s not my husband, I was forced into this, to him I’m only a vessel for his unborn son,” She uttered bitterly.

“ _ I do not love Jack in any way. _ ” She added, a tone of defiance bleeding in her voice.

Mac couldn't help to crack a smirk at the women's fiery vehemence and placed a supportive hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sure things will work out, there's a lot of people who hate him as you do.” he guided her hand to his arm and began to guide her back to the mill.

Latia relaxed, feeling better now that she had confided in someone and the two walked away.

The small bird from earlier watched the two carefully from atop the arch, chirping softly as it disappeared back into the hanging mouth of the archway.

_______________________________________________________________________

Mac held the door for Latia, her luggage tangled in his hands.

“I’m sorry it isn’t much of a room.” He sighed, setting her bags down by the door. The room was old, years of people coming and going evident on the worn wooden floors. Every small movement letting lose a loud creak from the floorboards.

“It's better than sleeping in that car for a few nights…” She gave a small laugh, setting her sketchbooks down on the small nightstand by her bed.

Mac helped her sit down on the bed, easing her down slowly and placing a pile of blankets beside her. “It gets awfully cold at night so I prepared some blankets for you.” Turning on his heel he crossed the room, his boots sounding dull thuds across the floor as he walked.

“I’ll also get the fire going for you; feel free to call me if you need anything, more blankets, tea, more firewood…” The man went on, working dutifully to get the fire up and burning.

Latia admired his almost contagious demeanor, the way he spoke and treated her allowing her to relax. The bitterness that often soured her mood felt tame and untouched. She wrapped one of the softer blankets around her shoulders, the fabric smelt of blossoms and moss, likely from drying outside.

Eventually, the fire lit and Mac stood, dusting off his hands before placing them on his hips and posing in an accomplished matter. The warm light illuminated the room and gave Latia a chance to really study the man; tall with strong arms, a thick ponytail of chestnut brown hair resting on his shoulder. He was clean shaven, a small grin etched on his features, faint traces of smile lines dusted by the fire's glow could be seen on his cheeks.

Latia guessed him to be in his mid-thirties, he was dressed relatively well despite being a servant. He wore a black collared vest over a frayed dress shirt. It was slightly yellowed likely due to sweat and dirt, and on top of it all he donned a long dark red apron; the pockets dirtied and the edges are torn. His pants were a dark grey, soiled at the knees and tucked into the tops of his boots.

“Thank you, Mac, the fire is lovely,” she began, giving a happy hum at the deep aroma the firewood gave off. “I really appreciate all this...and as for my outburst earlier…”

Mac raised his hand, reassuring her, “Don’t worry about it, your secret is safe with me.” 

“Just promise me you’ll show me more of those drawings eh?”

A chuckle escaped her lips, “I promise.”

“Fantastic! I’ll have to get a signed piece eventually, I’ll show it off when you have a gallery in the finest museums all over Europe.” Mac beamed as he strolled over to the door, “However, in the meantime, duty calls, it's snack time for the runts attending Jack’s afternoon playdate.”

Mac opened the door and gave Latia a quick bow before he turned to leave, “Oh, and Dr. Ziegler will likely be with you shortly for a checkup.”

Latia took note and waved goodbye, “I’ll see you around?”

“Most certainly.” Mac shut the large wooden door quietly, his expression hardening once he left. He knew he couldn't remain jovial while in the captain's presence, he had an image to uphold and much at stake. He bit his lip nervously and stuffed his hands into the pouch of his apron, clutching the ring of keys inside.

His mind wracked on what Jack’s little military meeting had in store for him, he fretted over what they knew, what they plan to do, and if they had any shred of information on the resistance.

He wasn’t gonna learn anything by just standing around, so he made his way down to the kitchen to set things in motion.


	4. “Cruelty of Mankind”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trickling of Jack's cruel behavior shakes those on the inside, plans are made and secrets are unfolded.
> 
> A story is told that Latia would learn to never forget

The room was dark, the lone fireplace was the only source of light. It’s orange glow rested itself upon the polished wood of the long meeting table that centered the room. Gathered around the table were Jack and his best men, all hovered closely over the map that was spread before them.

“The guerrillas are sticking to the woods because it’s hard to track them down up there,” The captain's voice reverberated strongly in the large room, he was hunched over the table, examining the map with a magnifying glass as he spoke. 

He sits up straight and sternly addresses his men, “Those pricks know the terrain better than any of us, we need to force them down!” His gloved hand pushes a pin down into the map, “So let's block their access to medicine and supplies..”

Jack’s eyes flicker to the door as Mac enters, he is carrying a large serving tray filled with portions of olives, cold cuts, and a large bottle of Orujo liqueur. The man gives a curt bow and approaches the table, setting down the tray quietly as Jack continues on.

“We will have to place command posts here, here and here…” He pressed more pins into the map, “If we do that, the bastards will come to us”

Mac looked on, concealing his avid curiosity, studying the map when the others had their eyes elsewhere. He set all the trays down on the table and began to pour glasses of the Orujo.

“Mac…” Jack suddenly barked, grabbing the man's arm.

Mac froze for a moment, a deer in headlights under the captain's hard gaze.

“Y-yes sir?”

“I want Dr. Ziegler to see me, stat,” he grumbled, letting go of his vice grip slowly.

“Yes sir, right away sir…” Mac slipped out of his grip, quickly exiting the room and heaving a heavy sigh of relief, he pressed the tray to his chest and chuckled weakly to himself.

Morrison had returned his attention back to his maps, a sinister smile stretching across his face. He popped an olive into his mouth and chewed, tapping his fingers against the wood of the table.

“Those bastards are going to starve...you'll see…”

______________________________________________________________________________

Latia’s room hung with an air of silence, the only stirring of noise emanated from the warm crackling of the fire, and the quiet scratchings of her pencil against parchment. The woman was completely engrossed in her sketch, wrapped tightly in the collection of blankets Mac had left her. The page was filled with detailed renditions of the labyrinth and the small bird that captured her interest, she even included a series of drawings of the mysterious monolith she discovered on the road. She took extra care of all the Celtic runes that littered its surface, its details coming to her naturally as if she had seen the structure every day.

“Madam? May I come in?”

Latia immediately recognized the voice, it was the kind swiss accent of Dr. Ziegler. She shut her sketchbook and set it aside before she opened her mouth to respond.

“Uh..Yes, please come in Angela.”

With that the woman opened the door, a meek smile teasing at her lips. She came in and set her suitcase on the table and removed her coat.

“I apologize if I’m intruding, the Captain simply wanted me to do a quick check-up and be sure you would get your nights sleep in.” She delicately folded her coat over the chair and with nimble hands she clicked open her case, revealing an array of medications and vials of antibiotics.

“You’re fine Angela, it's your job after all.” Latia leaned back in the monumental carved bed, resting softly against the pillows. Her eyes followed Angela as she prepared some sort of concoction, dripping a few drops of an amber liquid into a glass of water, then stirring it thoroughly with a spoon. She sealed up the bottle of medicine tight and placed it on the nightstand, then passed the full glass to Latia.

“Just four drops at bedtime and you'll sleep all night.”

Latia took the glass firmly, holding it with both hands in her lap as not to spill it. “Thank you, I admit it gets hard to sleep, especially now in this old creaky house…”

Angela chuckled lightly, “It does take time to get used to,” She placed a hand to Latia’s forehead to see if she was warm. “Have you had any waves of nausea since you arrived?”

“No thankfully, I think the country air did me some good.”

The Doctor gave a relieved sigh; brushing her bangs away from her eyes, her golden locks running through her fingers effortlessly. “That's certainly a relief, your labor will be an intensive one but the way you're looking things should be just fine.”

Latia picked up a hint of uncertainty in Angela’s voice and it worried her. She knew her pregnancy had been an arduous one, feeling more like a rotten parasite than a gift of life. Her lips pressed together to form a hard line as she recalled all the pain more recent weeks have brought her, all nausea and headaches paired sorely with the incessant kicking.

“That's great to hear, thank you again.” Her tone returned to a more hard, formal one. It lacked the familiarity she gave before. To her, Dr. Ziegler was the same as the Captain, lying and living in this wicked fantasy of pride and greed, at the very least merely piggybacking off his ideas.

Angela did her best to hide the trace amount of hurt, disheartened that Latia couldn't trust her fully. “You ’re welcome...well I ’d best be off, don't want to disturb you further. Sleep well Madam.” She hurriedly packed up her things, shrugging her coat back onto her shoulders and locking her case. She politely nodded and left Latia alone, the large wooden door left open just a crack.

Once she was certain the woman was gone, she brought the glass of water to her nose and smelled it. Her face crinkled in disgust, the scent was harsh almost like a strong liqueur.

“No thanks…” She mumbled, setting it down on the nightstand. She made tentative plans to dump it somewhere while nobody was looking. Emerging from her cocoon of blankets, she shivered as her feet touched the cold wooden floor. She shuffled over to the door to close it fully but she stopped as she overheard the hushed conversation from out in the hall.

“...Hope she doesn't hate me.”

“Don’t worry Angie, I guarantee it’s not you…”

Latia peeked out of the door to see Mac and Angela whispering to each other, Angela held a small wrapped package in her hand as Mac spoke. The pair looked incredibly tense as if they could be killed if caught speaking to each other in that fashion.

“Beyond that Angie, you must come up to the mountain and see him.” He began, his voice tightening. “His leg wound is getting worse…”

Angela nodded timidly, taking a quick glance around before nudging the neatly tied package to Mac. “This is all I could get. I’m sorry.”

Mac sighed, clutching the package and stuffing it quickly into his satchel. “Thanks, it’s better than nothing.” He gestured behind him, “Jack is downstairs, don't keep him waiting.”

Latia was mildly shocked at what she just witnessed, and she shuffled quietly back to her bed and slipped back under the mass of blankets. The idea of Mac and Angela helping the resistance out in the woods tickled in the back of her head. Yet, despite it all she smiled. Seeing Jack and his motley crew gets overthrown by the resistance would be a true masterpiece to behold.

She decided to keep her lips sealed.

“Don’t tell me you fell asleep already?”

Mac’s voice snapped her from her reverie and she tossed the blankets off of her to greet him. “I didn't even hear you slip in.” She sat up and sunk her back into the pile of pillows against the ornate headboard. 

The wind howled outside, the house’s timbers moan and creak loudly. Latia looked around, listening to the horrific orchestra the house conducted. “As for sleeping, doubt I could if this is what I’m going to hear all night.”

Mac chuckled, “It takes time to grow used to, nights here are different from city nights.” He pulled up a chair and sat beside Latia’s bed, “Back in the city, you fall asleep to the lullaby of cars and trains, the low hum of the people around you, but the houses here, it becomes this old achy symphony.”

As if the house overheard Mac, it utters a series of deep guttural rumbling noises. “It’s like they speak, telling stories of all the souls that once lived in its space.”

“That's strangely poetic.” Latia smiled. She had returned her sketchbook to her lap and it was open to the page she was working on.

“I’m a poetic man.” He smirked, leaning in to peek at her open page, “So the drawing of the man, who is he?”

Latia looked down to see what he was referring to, “Oh him?” Her thumb ran against the drawing as it always did, an unconscious quirk she found for comfort. “Just an image I had in my head, nothing more.”

Mac studied it further, examining the man’s expression and the clothes he donned. His eyes wandered over the intricate buildings that accompanied the sketch and the blooming flowers and a story blossomed in his head. “Almost reminds me of a story I’ve heard.” He commented, standing up to crack his back.

“A story?” Latia’s eyes lit up, and she nestled further into her cave of blankets.

Mac noticed her immediate interest and couldn't help but to chuckle, he leaned over her bed and tucked her in cozily, “You wanna hear it?”

Latia nodded, handing him her sketchbook so he could put it safely with the rest. He set it down carefully and sat back down in his chair. He cleared his throat and mulled his brain for the details of the story before he began.

“This is the story of the King of the Underworld, I heard it once or twice back home…”

**_Once upon a time, during a time of war and turmoil, the Powers that dictate the laws of this world brought forth two powerful men. Both men gifted with the blessing to cease the never-ending conflict the world had pitched itself in._ **

**_One man was golden like the sun, guiding all his subjects into his radiant warmth, he was heralded as a true God. His followers flocked to him as he led the revolution._ **

**_The other man was Silver like the moon, he took upon all the pain of his subjects, using his immortal body to withstand all the suffering the war brought. The shadows of his power giving birth to the secrets of our world._ **

**_It wasn't long before he lost many of his followers, all dazzled by the radiance the Golden Man. He felt lost, betrayed, the pain he suffered for his people went unnoticed. He felt true pain for the first time. It was the pain of loneliness._ **

**_The Powers of our world took pity on the Silver Man and gifted him with a mortal woman, a woman of Stars. Her eyes were like the light in his lonely sky. The Silver Man wanted nothing more to bear all the tolls of her suffering for all eternity._ **

**_The Silver Man received the first true Gift, the Gift of Love._ **

**_However, the Golden Man grew jealous of this Gift, and the darkness in his heart pulled him to spread lies to his followers._ **

**_“The Silver Man’s secrets cannot be trusted! The Powers favor him but his intentions are malicious! He is tricking them, tricking all of us! The Gift is tainted!”_ **

**_Slowly the Silver Man lost near everything, his few followers turning a blind eye to the betrayal. Even the Powers above began to doubt him, choosing to give the second true Gift to the Golden Man._ **

**_The Gift of Life, the most precious Gift._ **

**_Now heralded as the God of the New World, The Golden Man dare to challenge the Silver Man. He knew they were equally matched, but the Golden Man was smart and knew his weakness. He killed his mortal love, the Stars in the sky went dark._ **

**_Wracked with grief, the Silver Man despite the danger, bestowed half his power within her body, splitting his own Gift of Immortality. However, this weakened him far too much, allowing the Golden Man to banish him to the depths of the Underworld._ **

**_Now strengthened with the Gift of Immortality. The woman of Stars chose to join her love despite her deep love for the mortal realm and the sky that cradled it. “No sky is complete without the Moon.”_ **

**_The world's conflict now over, the two men became the new Powers._ **

**_Both Life, and Death._ **

**_Life full of Pride and Selfishness, living in his realm alone._ **

**_Death full of Acceptance and Selflessness, living in his realm with his love._ **

Doing her best to not look too enamored by the story she smirked, toes wiggling under the sheets. “I feel like a kid, it’s like you're some sappy, old man telling me bittersweet fairy tales.” she teased.

Mac scoffed at the thought, “Old man? Least that makes me wiser than a child.” The man smirked, humored by her analogy. He could tell how drawn to the story she was, her eyes unclouded by the bitterness that often consumed her and sparkling as if she was the ‘Woman of Stars’

Just outside, on the dark windowsill, the small, black bird watched the two playfully bicker back and forth. The creature seemed equally enamored by the story Mac told, chirping softly as it observed them with tiny dark eyes. The wind howled softly, ruffling the bird's feathers as if it was urging it forward.

____________________________________________________________________________

One of the lower rooms of the mill belonged to the captain, it was an improvised office where the gigantic mill wheel and gears lie in a heap. The room was well lit and meticulously organized, the orange wash of light coloring everything in the room, long shadows cast in many places.

In the center of the room was his work desk where he sat, littered with tools and paperwork. He had laid out a small swatch of black velvet, and across the soft surface was a small selection of tiny steel gears that shined like metallic stars on its dark background.

He carefully picks up one of the gears with a pair of tweezers, placing them into the workings of his pocket watch, which lay open in his gloved hand. Using a jeweler's magnifying glass, he oils and closes up the watch with care.

“Captain? You called for me?” Angela called from beyond his door.

“Come in.” He grunts, taking off the magnifying glass.

Angela meekly enters, giving a polite bow as she approached his desk.

“How is she?” Jack immediately asked, skipping formalities.

Angela’s eyes avoided his hard gaze, “She’s weak, but doing a lot better, she needs a lot of rest, she could go into labor at any moment…” 

“As for my son?” He interrupted.

“Your-?”

Two lower-ranking militants entered the room, tipping their hats at Angela as they pushed past her, “Excuse us, captain…”

Morrison snarled and raised his hand, motioning them to be silent, then returned his gaze to Angela. “My son. How is he?”

The doctor stumbled over her words for a moment, “U-Uhm..F-For the moment there's no reason to be alarmed, but I think that…” She bit her lip, tell-tailing her nervousness, “I don’t think you should have had her travel so late in her pregnancy...the damage could be permanent.”

“Is that your opinion?” He drawled, seemingly unphased by the fact.

She swallowed hard and nodded, “Yes, my professional opinion.”

Jack stands, tucking his precious pocket watch back into his coat. “Well, a boy should be born wherever his father is. That’s that.” He began to march to the door to join his awaiting men but Angela stopped him and he gazed at her fixedly.

“Ah...One more thing sir, what makes you so sure the baby is a boy?”

He sneered, his blue eyes pointing icy daggers down at her before he spoke.

“Don’t fuck with me.” And with that, he left.

______________________________________________________________________________

The moon shone brightly over the mill at night, they were mere silhouettes in its wake, casting long eerie shadows over the gravel paths and the tents that surrounded it. The night air was crisp and alive, full of the noises of the wind and creatures that lurked in the shadows. A few patrols of guards marched along the paths uniformly, ready to attack if need be. The encroaching thought of the rebels striking made everyone on high alert, some going as far as running on pure fear.

Jack and his men had exited the mill, walking towards the outer wheel. There, a small group of soldiers had surrounded an old man and his young son, both dressed in rags and quivering in fear. Sgt. Lincoln stepped forward from the group, saluting the captain before briefing him on the current situation.

“Good evening sir, at 8 o’clock we detected activity in the southeastern sector, it was gunfire.” Another man stepped up beside Lincoln, saluting as well. “This soldier here captured the suspect. The other prisoner is apparently his son who came here from town.”

The son hesitantly spoke up, fear dripping from his voice like melting ice, “C-Captain, please, my father is an honorable man…”

Jack shot a glare at the boy, raising his hand, “I’ll decide that. Take your hat off when you address me.” The son quietly obeyed, hurriedly stuffing his hat in his back pocket and staring at the ground like a whipped dog. The soldier that accompanied Sgt. Lincoln handed Jack a small gauge rifle and a small leather pouch.

“We found this weapon, it seems to have been fired…” Jack began slowly, examining the gun closer.

“I-I assure you, sir, he was hunting rabbits!”

“Shut up dammit!” Jack snarled, he dug through the pouch and pulled out a farmers almanac, he flips through it idly and reads the back page aloud, “...No God, nor Government, nor Master?”

“Seems like Red propaganda, sir…” Lincoln uttered, crossing his arms as he studied the old man.

“It's not propaganda sir..”

Jack, impatiently motioned him to be silent and looked to the old man for answers.

The father fidgeted as Jacks deadly gaze landed on him, he took a deep breath and spoke as calmly as he could, “It’s an old almanac, we’re farmers, sir…” He looked at the rifle that lay idly in Jack’s hand, “And as for the gun, I was only in the forest to hunt rabbits for my daughters, they're terribly ill...”

“Rabbits you say?” Jack drawled, digging further into the pouch. He pulled out a small glass bottle. He deftly popped the loose cork and smelled the contents, “This is wine, wouldn't you agree Lincoln?” He holds the bottle in an outstretched hand for the Sgt. to smell. “Seems to be so sir, cheap wine at that…”

“Captain, if my father says so, he was hunting rabbits. My father isn't the kind of man to lie.” The boy whimpered, his tone was desperate.

Jack handed the pouch to Lincoln, keeping the bottle in his hand as he silently approached the boy.

**_BAM!_ **

Without warning he flattened the boy's nose with the bottle bottom, fresh blood spraying his sleeve. The father screamed, absolutely horrified at the scene before him. He was frozen with fear with no guts to intervene. Jack lifted the boy up by his bloodied collar, striking him over and over again, leveling bone and cartilage until he was dead.

“No!! No!! You killed him!! You son of a bitch!” The father wailed in agony, tears streaming down his weathered face.

Jack dropped the boy, letting his corpse crumple to the ground. He then turned to the father and shot him twice in cold blood, the father fell to the ground clutching his wounds. He feebly reached out for his dead son, weakly moaning his name. Jack watched with an uninterested stare, and right before the father could grab hold of his hand he shot him a third time right in the head.

Silence swept across the mill, everyone too shocked to say a word, the only thing to permeate the night air was the faint whistle of the nearby train. Jack walked back over to Lincoln and searched the rest of the bag calmly; inside he found two scrawny rabbits, freshly killed and still oozing blood.

“Learn to frisk these motherfuckers before you waste my time.”

Lincoln stiffened, “Y-Yes sir.”

Jack scoffed and stepped over the dead bodies, pushing past the group of soldiers with a scowl on his features. He took the two rabbits with him and left everyone to clean up the mess.


	5. “Death Comes”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange bird-like creature guides Latia to the Labyrinth, bathed in moonlight.
> 
> What she finds is the first step to fulfilling her destiny.
> 
> The Reaper awaits...

Latia lay awake, restless from the incessant groaning of the mill. Every attempt in falling asleep ended with her being awoken by the wind. Mac had passed out in his chair, his head lulled back letting his hair dangle behind the backing of the seat. He snored softly, blissfully deaf to the awful array of noises the house made.

Suddenly, she heard a dry rattle followed by a soft ululation at her open window. The curtains billowed and a small chirping noise followed. Mac didn't even flinch at the sudden noise, but Latia sat up in her bed and glanced around. A scuttling noise reached her ears as something tiny skitters over the floor.

“Mac, wake up! There's something in the room…” Latia carefully swings her legs off the bed, slipping her shoes on, Mac remains completely asleep and Latia curses to herself. She heard something shift up in the rafters, her breath hitches and she looks up, her eyes scanning the darkness feebly. Something quickly hits the floor, the size of a human hand. It flutters past her feet and dips under the bed, Latia suppressed a yelp as she tucked her legs back up in fear.

Then, pulling softly at the goose down comforter the small bird hopped up onto her bed, staring at her with its little beady eyes and chirping. Latia leaned over the creature, positively shocked it had followed her. “H-Hello little guy...Did you follow me here?” She whispered. The Bird gently pecked at her hand and chirped, bobbing its head up and down as if it was saying yes.

Latia let it hop onto her hand and bring it closer to her and she smiled, “You're an awfully smart bird, very handsome too, with those pretty black and white feathers.” She pet its small head with her pinky, admiring its coat. “You're almost like a little fairy.”

The bird regarded her with curiosity, cocking its head to the side. Humoring the bird she decided to pull out her sketchbook and show it her drawings, she flipped through the pages pointing at the illustrations, “These are Fairies,” she began, moving the bird to the pages. It was almost human-like the way it studied the drawings with avid curiosity. It gently pecked down on her favorite page, the illustration of what Mac called, the King of the Underworld.

“You like that page too? It's my favorite…” She chuckled, watching as the bird hopped on the page and spread its wings. It stretched upwards and then wrapped itself in its wings when it emerged it changed completely. Latia gasped, staring hard at what the small bird had transformed into. It had the appearance of a small dark fairy, wrapped elegantly in a black coat. It donned silver armor on its tiny chest and a bone-like mask hid its face.

The Fairy flew to the foot of the bed, doing a few slow spins, showing off how its silky coat billowed softly around it. It points at the window and beckons her forward, still making its signature bird-like trills.

Latia was at a loss for words, she swallowed and rubbed her eyes. She couldn't even begin to comprehend the situation however her raw interest drew her in, begging her to follow the creature. “Do you...want me to come with you?” She asked quietly. The Fairy nods excitedly, flying over to take her hand and guide her.

“Guess i’m going on a little adventure…”

______________________________________________________________________________

It didn't take long for her to sneak out of the mill. Mac was completely knocked out, and all the patrols were on a break. It's as if the world had given her this magical moment to follow this magnificent creature. She shivered, the cold nipping at her relentlessly. The regret of not bringing a proper coat hung over her head. However, her sheer excitement kept her just warm enough as she followed the fairy out into the night. It flew swiftly but just slow enough for her to keep up, its white mask almost glowing in the moonlight making it easier to see.

Suddenly it stopped, and the pair found themselves at the foot of the Labyrinth, it's stone walls bathed in silver moonlight. Trees and roots crowded the broken niches as if it fused to the gravelly surface. She hitched up her dress and pressed forward into its eerie passageways, they were narrow and some paths were blocked by gnarled trees that have grown through the rock.

It felt like an eternity, winding down the many passages. Something inside her seemed to guide every step she took. Her chest pulled her in many directions, rumbling burning sensation the closer the two traveled to the core. 

Deep into the Labyrinth, they find the center, a large opening in the ground with large carved slabs serving as stairs, they spiral down into the pit, glowing ominously in the moonlight.

The Fairy alights on an ancient monolith at its edge, the stone decorated just like the one she found along the road. Its small hands beckoned her forward, then flying down deep into the pit.

“Ahh..my greatest enemy, stairs…” She mumbled as she approached the edge. The empty pool wasn't as deep as she anticipated and she took a careful step down to the first slab, one hand clutching the mossy wall and the other holding her stomach.

“Hello?” she called out, unsure if she wanted to hear a reply. She could hear the chirping of the Fairy far below where she stood and the depths returned her cry, echoing softly in the night air. She took a deep breath, gearing herself for the trip down, one careful step after the other. Her boots thumped loudly at each step, and she clutched the wall beside her.

“Hello…?” She called once more, finding temporary solace as her echo greeted her back. Slowly but surely she made it to the bottom, and she examined her surroundings with sheer awe. The moonlight flickered out from behind the clouds, revealing the small temple she found herself in. At the center, what seemed to be a tall statue of a man stood stoically. Around it was a thin moat of water, likely collected into the deep crevice from recent rain.

She approached the statue slowly, squinting her eyes to better see the details in the dim light. She hesitated as she reached out to touch it, it was beautiful almost like it was alive. She walked around it, meeting its face with burning curiosity. It was slightly hunched towering over her, dressed in an elegant coat plated with what seemed to be silver. It looked to have been waiting a very long time, the expression on its mask almost impatient-looking. The mask matched all the motifs she had seen throughout the labyrinth, glowing faintly like fresh ivory.

Latia couldn't help but to draw a longing sigh as she gazed at the statue, it stirred a longing in her that she couldn't quite place. The clouds finally parted away from the moon, illuminating the scene as she reached out timidly to touch its mask.

“Stare any harder and I might start blushing.”

Latia gasped and near stumbled a few steps back, the low gravelly voice taking her by surprise. She wasn’t sure if the statue had come to life or if it was animate the whole time. The moon framed his ghostly attire as he stepped forward, his movements fluid like quicksilver.

He spoke slowly as he approached her, a trail of dark mist forming at his feet. “You haven't changed at all, you’re just as beautiful as the stars above...if not more…” His voice betrayed a sense of awe, running off his tongue smoothly just like the darkness that held him.

“W-Who are you…?” She barely managed to summon words, frozen, yet oddly drawn in by his words. She was at a loss as to why he would say such strange things but at the same time, her chest pulled at something deep inside her. A low, almost sad grumble came from the man and he stopped right in front of her. “Ah...so you don't remember…” He uttered quietly. Even with his mask, it was clear the pain that revelation brought. He seemed to shrink back some, hesitant, almost like a child. A long, shaky breath rattled behind his mask and he stepped closer once more. The trills of his coat dragged silently behind him across the stone floor and his fairies followed him closely.

“I have had many names...Old names that only the Moon and Stars can pronounce,” he raised a lone clawed hand, the fairy from before flew to it joined by two others of different colors. They fluttered around both Latia and the man excitedly before resting on his broad shoulders. “I am the moon, the secrets of our world, and every shadow cast at night. I am Death, the Reaper.” He bowed to her, moonlight dappling his body. “And you have many names as well my Queen.”

Latia leaned closer to the man, a curious twinkle in her eyes, “Q-Queen?”

He adoringly ran one of his talons across her cheek, “Yes, Queen.” The steel was cold as it trailed down to her neck, then turning to run through her hair tenderly. “My Gift, my only love, my stars…” His voice was thick with emotion as he gazed down at her, pulling her closer.

“You are the Blossom of the Underworld. My Queen…”

Latia was taken aback, unsure of what to say. The idea of her being a queen was simply preposterous, “I-I can’t be a queen..my father was a rebel and my mother was an opera singer…”

“You are not born of man, you were born from the stars upon our mortal realm, look to your left shoulder and you’ll find a mark that proves it…” He squeezed her shoulder softly, tucking one of his talons under her blouse. He pushed away the scratchy fabric and slowly pulled it down her arm. The moon lit up her pale skin, beaming down a nearly perfect ethereal beam upon the small crescent-shaped mark he spoke of.

Latia’s mouth hung open, a puff of cold air escaped her lips. He was cold yet the tantalizing words he spoke stirred within her, warming her very core. “How...did you know I have that birthmark?” Her curious eyes traveled up his arm and met the dark eyes of the mask, “I always thought it was strange…”

Again, the man chuckled, amused by her actions, “I’ve known you for thousands of years, no part of me will ever forget.” His hand slipped away from her shoulder, the fabric shrugging back into place as he let his talon carefully lift her chin to better meet his gaze. “Every freckle decorating your skin like a galaxy, your eyes shimmering as if they were poured from a golden chalice…” The claw carefully ran across her lower lip, “ A pair of lips so rosy it’s as if they were grown from the most lavish of gardens, and a long braid of hair that was woven from starlight…”

Latia leaned to his touch, her body quivering ever so slightly from his words. She turned away, her cheeks smouldering, “ I-I see…” Her words stumbled off her tongue, her confident demeanor easily shattered by his poetic expressions.

A smile bloomed on his face, her rosy cheeks giving him butterflies, it was as if he had fallen in love all over again. Yet, the feeling of sadness lumped in his throat as his eyes brushed over her pregnant belly. His free hand clenched into a tight fist, he swore to himself he would find the bastard who hurt her and make him pay. But for now, he took a deep breath and relaxed himself. He had finally found his love, nothing else should matter.

“For thousands of years I have searched tirelessly for you, I opened portals all around the world to allow for your return. My power wanes without you by my side and this is the last one.” He opened his free arm to gesture to the temple around them.

“But,” he began, caressing her cheek once more, “We have to make sure your essence is intact, that you haven't permanently become a mortal.” He pointed up the sky, “To insure your return you have three tasks to fulfill before the moon is full.”

Behind him the trio of Fairies deposited a large leather bound book as well as a bag to put it in on the first step. “That there is the Book of Crossroads. Open it when you are alone and it will show you your future, show you what must be done.” 

Latia’s mind raced with questions, her heart brimming with uncertainty. “H-How can I trust you…?” 

Reaper gave a low chuckle, removing his mask, he let it clatter to the ground and he rested both his hands on her shoulders. He pulled her close, summoning forth a large black coat to rest on her cold shoulders. He was incredibly handsome, and she recognized him immediately. His dark sparkling eyes, the mischievous smile. He was the man that seemed to plague her imagination and take residence in her art.

“I’m sure you'll find it in your heart to trust me…even as a mortal” He gave a sad smile , closing the gap between them as he placed a soft, hesitant kiss on her forehead. His own confidence waned as fear overtook him. 

His love, as a mortal.

He prayed that everything would fall into place, and he would be blessed with the chance to hold her once more. He slowly materialized into a cloud of black smoke as his lips brushed against her, leaving her only with a long sigh as he fully disappeared into the night.

She touched her cheeks, they burned deeply as a blush overtook her features. She pulled the coat he left her tightly around her shoulders, the warmth comforting. She made her way over to the book the Fairies had left her and opened its weathered pages.

The pages were all empty, a yellowed canvas waiting to be filled. She was sure it would fill given time. She swung the bag over her shoulder and tucked the book safely inside and began to head back up the stairs and out of the Labyrinth.

Excitement brewed inside her, this could prove to be the freedom she longed for, where she belonged in this world. Before she left, she turned and called out into the night.

“I trust you...Reaper”

_____________________________________________________________________________

_ “This captain, he is the one that hurt her?” The Reaper's low voice echoed in the shadows, he was accompanied by the Fairies. They all nodded in unison, flying excitedly around their master. He placed a lone talon upon the man's temple, his magic peering into his mind. He saw how he has murdered many because of his selfish ideals, he saw his twisted nature full of hatred. What pained him the most was the burning image of his queen crying in pain and fear underneath this man, her body littered my marks from this foul man's anger. _

_ Reaper felt the beginnings of anger boil in his heart, how dare this man ruin his dear queen. He loomed over his sleeping figure, wanting no more than to drain the life out of him then and there, but he couldn't. His power was far too weak, but he swore that he soon would feel the same pain he brought upon her and others. For now, he must wait.  _

_ With that he and his Fairies faded into the shadows of the room. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the love! I appreciate all of the Kudos and feedback! I'll definitely try and update as often as possible~


	6. “Suffering”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The child formed from hatred is born.  
> The pain is near overwhelming.  
> The cogs of the resistance turn, and new doors open.
> 
> This is only the beginning.

Latia awoke in a startled panic, a suffocating gasp escaping her lips as her entire abdomen enveloped with an intense, excruciating pain. She reached down to yank the thick, now suffocating blankets and quilts off of her to reveal a pool of dark blood beneath her thighs, soaking the soft, white bed sheets underneath her. Latia trembled at the sight, tears welling up in her eyes as another wave of nauseating cramps over took her body. She grabs for Mac, who is still passed out in the chair next to her.

“Mac! Mac, p-please, help me!” Latia cries out, shaking his sleeping body frantically.

“Ugh, Madam Latia, it’s early, even for me..” Mac slowly rouses, for the moment unaware of the pure terror his companion is in. When he blinks open his eyes, Mac immediately bolts out of his chair at the sight of the hot red blood, the seat falling backwards with a loud  _ thud  _ as he rushes to gather Latia in his arms. “Angela!! ANGIE! She’s, merde, she’s fucking dying!” Mac screams out, holding Latia close to his chest, desperately trying to keep her from falling apart as she cries out again, the cramps coming one after another; too soon.

Latia is only vaguely aware of Angela as she enters the room, clinging onto Mac like a lifeline. It’s when she hears Morrison’s voice that Latia grits her teeth and feels a spark again, nails digging into Mac’s shoulders so tightly he visibly cringes, gasping lightly as he tries to sit her upright.

“No, she’ll stay laying down.” Jack orders, reaching forward to rip Mac away from Latia, who accidentally drops the suffering woman onto the bed. Mac wretches his arm back to his side, glowering at the captain.

“It’s best for a mother to have her child sitting up, sir-”

“Perhaps that’s how it’s done with you Redskins, but my child will be born traditionally, properly.” Jack pushes Mac to the side, back away Latia and Angela, who was trying to situate the pained woman into a comfortable position with little triumph. Angela looked between Latia’s thighs, letting out a wobbly breath at the sight. Jack sets beside her, looking down at Angela with disdain.

“Will he survive?” Angela looks up at Jack, eyes wide and brows furrowed. She opens her mouth, only to be interrupted. “He’s top priority. You  _ will _ save him if we must choose.”

“You’re a fucking bastard,” Latia nearly chokes on the words as Jack whips his head back towards her; her whole body quivering as Mac dutifully returns to her side, wiping the sweat away from her brow with the end of his dirty sleeve. Latia watches as Jack slowly approaches her again, standing directly behind Mac, who foolishly tried to hide her with his own body. Jack ignores him, towering over the both of them.

“Watch your mouth, wife, or I will make sure that you do not survive this endeavour.”

**_PTHU!_ **

Mac had to physically keep himself from laughing at that moment, watching the all-mighty Captain Morrison wipe away the ball of sticky, phlegm-filled spit from his eye, his entire expression as sour as a rotten grape. All mirth left Mac’s body when Jack’s hand snapped back, ready to strike at Latia’s prone body, when Angela grabbed for it looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

“I wouldn't recommend that, Captain. If you have any punishments for such insubordination, wait until your son is born. He.. he is top priority after all.” Angela looked frightened, but stood her ground as Jack ripped his hand out of hers, staring down at the lithe doctor with pure malice. Eventually, Jack leaned back, hands neatly tucked behind his back.

“I’ll be waiting outside, you as well MacNaughton.” Jack ordered, sneering when Mac refused to move.

“If it’s alright with Dr. Ziegler, I’d prefer to stay, sir.” Mac all but spat out, holding Latia across the shoulders with one arm and holding her hand in his own. Angela wordlessly agreed, nodding her head as she presumed examining Latia, her expression grim. 

Jack grunted, still sneering down at the two young friends as he exited the room. Mac sighed, placing his cheek onto Latia’s as he held her tighter, her hand squeezing his with impeccable strength as she wailed once again. Mac closed his eyes and prayed to whatever God was listening for the courage to surpass this.

Mac’s head briefly hung low as he clumsily changed the bedsheets for the fourth time that night, exhaustion threatening to drop him onto the floor. Latia’s labour had gone long past midnight, the moon now shining bright and lively through the window, seemingly watching them struggle to keep both Latia and her unborn son alive. 

Mac vigorously shook his head, clearing away all thoughts of death as he stood up straight, tossing the soiled sheets onto the floor before helping Latia back onto the newly cleaned bed from the nearby chair. He wiped the sweat from her clammy brow, worrying how her normally light skin looked translucent, corpse-like. The toll of the labour showing its ugliness. Her own eyes closed shut, head dropping down onto the fresh pillow, once again asleep.

“Angie, she’s sleeping again,” Mac whispered, shaking hand pressed down onto her neck, feeling the faint pulse as a reminder that Latia still lived. Angela shook her head, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

“If her body needs the rest, we must allow it to happen.” Angela sighed, watching for any signs of change while Latia slept on. Mac didn’t understand how pliant Angela could be during this time. He supposed Angela didn’t care for Latia as much as he did, but a doctor’s first priority should be getting the patient out of danger as soon as possible. 

She seemed almost content with the idea of letting Latia die as long as the child was born in a traditional sense. It put a sour taste in Mac’s mouth, making him spit onto the soiled sheets. Angela gave him a distasteful glare before Latia woke up again, groaning loudly.

“I… I can’t..” Latia moans, earning a concerned coo from Mac, who laid next to Latia on the bed, strong arms wrapping around her shaking body. With his apron and vest gone, his body seemed more lithe, easier to fit and mold with her’s. 

“You can, my petite amour. Just a little longer, he’ll be here in your arms soon.” Mac felt her shakes worsen, and peered at her face. Instead of pain, Mac saw anger.

“I don’t want that, I-I don’t want him. I fucking hate him, I hate him! He’s Jack’s and I  **hate him** .” Latia all but spat, keening low in her throat as another contraction wracked through her body.

Mac was at a loss for words, understanding her conviction but thinking that directing it towards the innocent child was unfair. He opened his mouth, wanting to soothe her pain as Latia all but screamed, her hands flying up to grasp at his own, squeezing tight. “God, please, make it stop! Please, please I’m begging  _ you _ , help me!” 

Mac could only watch in silent horror as Latia screamed and writhed, legs thrashing around on the bed as the pain worsened exponentially. Even Angela was taken back, trying to keep Latia’s legs apart so the child could have a clear passage through. 

Past her, behind Angela, Mac thought he saw a mournful face in the shadows, his eyes widening as they caught a glimpse of what seemed to be darkness personified. Mac would have thought himself insane, delusional, if not for Latia, who must have seen him too as she pitifully reached out towards the still figure, crying out for release.

It was here when the tension in the room shifted, Mac felt it deep inside his stomach. Watching the darkness, Latia let out one final guttural scream before falling silent, the sounds of her laboured breathing the only thing filling the room. Seconds ticked on before Mac heard a gentle crying, eyes torn away from the shadows towards Angela, who pulled up a tiny, pink bundle from between Latia’s legs.

Mac instantly swooned, gently letting Latia down onto the bed before crawling towards the end of the bed, eyes never leaving the newborn. Angela immediately plopped the child down into his arms when Mac was close enough, face calm.

“I’ll have you tend to him while I help Latia. The labour may be done, but she isn’t out of the woods yet.” Angela handed a little blanket to Mac, who took it and swaddled the baby, who was now nuzzling into Mac’s bare chest where his shirt was unbuttoned. He looked back to Latia, who would have looked dead if it wasn’t for her deep breaths. Mac leaned back, kissing her sweat covered neck gently, before taking his leave going towards the bathroom to wash the child thoroughly. 

Angela stood at a loss, wracking her mind for any comprehensible combination of her medicines that may help. She watched helplessly as some pain seemed to blossom within Latia once more. A fissure in her professional demeanor tore through her and she flopped down in her seat, face in her hands.

“I...don't know what to do…” Her voice was weak, brimming with uncertainty.

“Please...make it stop...please…” Latia barely managed to choke out her words.

Angela clutched her chest, pained by Latia’s condition. “I-i'm sorry...I don't think I can..”

“ **_Not you_ ** ”

Angela froze, darkness flashing before her eyes before a wave of sleep overtook her. She slumped in her chair, going limp as the darkness materialized into a shadowy hand, then slowly into a full being.

“ **_You’ve done enough_ ** ”

The voice came from gritted teeth, oozing a pain similar to Latia’s. The hand slowly slid from the doctor's face, leaving her in a peaceful slumber. 

“Reaper...please…” Latia spoke up, her voice growing more shrill as pain tore through her again. She reached out once more and the man rushed to her side, taking her hand and holding it close to his cheek.

“Mi alma..im so sorry..” He began, the coldness of her hands near matching his. He began to funnel what little magic he had into her, she threw her head back as the pain burnt in her core, finally shuddering to a slow stop.

Reaper let out a low growl, beads of sweat forming at his brow. “It'll all be over soon..please hang in there.” 

Latias pale hands snaked under Reaper’s mask, trembling as she plucked the mask off. She let it clatter to the floor, tracing the lines of his face.

“Please don't go...please…” She begged, she stared past him, her eyes blurred from the pain. “I'm always here. Don't worry…” He did his best to mask his growing anger towards the man who started this. A low, guttural sob escaped Latias lips and he snapped his attention to her.

“I never wanted this…” Her voice was more clear, shaking softly as she cried. “I shouldn't have...to suffer like this..” She drew another labored breath before focusing on Reaper.

“I could have been back in my hometown... _ I could have been your Queen _ .”

Her last statement sent a shiver down his spine, and he opened his mouth to speak.

“ **_Morrison will pay...he'll fucking pay for this_ ** ” 

The intensity in her voice matched his own, it's as if she read his mind. 

“I'll make sure of that my love” He uttered slowly, placing her hand back at her side.

“Now rest, I'll have you at my side soon enough.” 

Latia felt a wave of fatigue overtake her, her pains finally halting to grant her some sleep.

“Thank you...Reaper..” She breathed, pawing needily at his sleeve as she closed her eyes.

His figure loomed over her, brushing her light strands of hair away from her face and dabbing the sweat away. He leaned in, pressing another soft kiss to her forehead.

“Gabriel” He whispered as he oozed back into the shadows.

“Gabriel…” She smiled dreamily as she dozed off.

In that moment Angela shot awake, her conscience hazy. “H-how did I fall asleep? Latia?!” She shot up and rushed to her side.

“How in the world?” Angela's mouth hung agape as she examined Latia’s prone form. The shadows cast from the moon seemed to envelop her in a safe embrace, painting a smile upon her pale features. Angela quickly placed her hand upon Latia’s forehead, Angela grew cold from shock.

“Her fever...it’s gone?” She watched Latia’s chest, her breathing no longer labored. Long, relaxed breaths escaped her lips as she rested, it was as if nothing had ever happened. Time itself seemed to have taken many steps back and granted her another chance with the moon as it’s witness.

Angela sat back down, the chair creaking with effort. She was still reeling from shock, her own brow now glistening in sweat. Never in her career had she stumbled across a case like this, it was truly a miracle. As the facts settled within her a new emotion stirred, fear. Her thoughts began to churn, how would Jack take all this? Would she be safe from him now that her primary use was drained? Or would history repeat itself?

The Doctors anxiety began to grow, the worry eating away at her consciousness. She knew she had a mission that was far more important than worrying about this woman. However, a part of her felt as if Latia was also a bird in the same cage as herself in this war. The cage has cracked but neither of them were free, she desperately wished to sing with her. But for now she must remain silent, maybe then she could escape.

“If there is a god out there, I beg you, end this pointless battle, I want to be free too…”

The shadows seemed to flutter close to Angela as she spoke, the clouds in the sky moving away to free larger beams of moonlight into the room.

“Jack Morrison must pay, and even if I don’t live to see the end of this, I pray that at least the cage will open and those of us trapped can see the stars clearly for the first time. Not one light obstructed by the fires of war”

Angela lowered her eyes, a sad chuckle hummed from her lips. “If only…”

A soft chirp was heard from the windowsill, a small round bird with white feathers on it’s breast watched her with curious black eyes.

“Are you going to grant my wish vögelchen…” Angela cooed longingly at the creature as it preened it’s feathers. The shadows in the room formed into one as the bird cast a long silhouette across the worn floor. It’s inquisitive gaze seemed to harden in understanding at the woman's plea. The shadows grew once more as the clouds blocked the moon, shrouding the room in darkness once more as the bird flew away, leaving only a dark feather where it once stood.

The bird soared around the mill, it’s small shadow rippling across the wet grass and over the tiled roof. It passed the window that overlooked Mac, who cradled the new pink baby in his arms. His eyes glistened, full of adoration for the new beam of life that graced this Hell. He sang to the child, soothing it’s crying as he tenderly cleaned its tiny body.

**_“Quand nous chanterons Le temps des cerises_ **

**_Et gai rossignol Et merle moqueur_ **

**_Seront tous en fete...”_ **

The wind blew northward, guiding the bird on it’s path. It flew high and dove downwards, gliding past the sleeping guards by the storage hut. The small lock upon its doors rattling quietly as it popped open, falling to the grass with a dull thud.

**_“Les belles auront la folie en tête,_ **

**_Et les amoureux, de soleil au coeur..”_ **

The quietest trill of glee could be heard, as if the bird giggled like a mischievous child. It twirled happily in the air as it celebrated. It landed in a nearby tree and scanned the moonlit courtyard with careful eyes before taking off once more. 

**_“Quand nous chanterons Le temps des cerises_ **

**_Sifflera bien mieux Le merle moqueur..”_ **

It fluttered by Sgt. Lincoln, who had passed out drunk on his guard duty with tear-stained eyes. He mumbled breathily in his fitful slumber, a hidden deep fear for his life shown as he trembled. Roughly a few yards away from where he had rested was the small pit of burned bodies of the boy and his father from the night before. The lingering smell of burnt flesh still carried in the wind from the uncovered corpses.

**_“_ _Mais il est bien court Le temps des cerises,_ **

**_Ou l'on s'en va deux cueillir en rêvant,_ **

**_Des pendants d'oreilles,”_ **

The bird felt pain within it’s chest at the sight, a great mourning for the mortal realm. Gunshots could be heard within the dense forest and the bird took action, flapping it’s small wings and letting itself be carried by the wind. It caught up to the rebellion, their forces struggling to shake a group of scouting soldiers. A man bundled in red led the weakened force, he held onto another with a severely wounded leg. The injured man wailed in pain, clinging desperately to life as they fled.

**_“Cerises d'amour aux robes pareilles,_ **

**_Tombant sous la feuille En gouttes de sang..”_ **

Shadows formed up in the trees, resembling that of the fleeing rebellion. The scouts, unable to discern the difference followed blindly. They shot into the darkness as the rebellion escaped, the moon as their guide. The bird flew over the group before diving once more and turning back towards the mill. A low whistle could be faintly heard in the wind, calling to the creature as it hurriedly returned to its master.

**_“Mais il est bien court Le temps des cerises,_ **

**_Pendents de corail qu'on cueille revants…”_ **

The captain's room was dark, the fireplace snuffed out by the angry force that plagued the room. He slept peacefully, a smug smile etched on his lips as he dreamt of victory. Over his bed stood the source of the darkness, a monstrous wraith, weakened and unable to maintain a human form. 

_**“J'aimerai toujours Le temps des cerises,** _

_**C'est de ce temps là Que je garde au coeur,** _

_**Une plaie ouverte…”** _

The bird slipped through the cracked window and landed on it’s master's shoulder, almost smiling at the sight before him. Reaper reached down, placing a single claw upon the man's temple, he couldn't kill him, not yet at least. Darkness poured into Jack’s mind, his smile faded into a contorted face of terror, his dreams becoming terrible nightmares he couldn't awaken from.

**_“_ ** **_GoOd nIGHt JaCK…”_ **


End file.
